


The Confessions of the Broken

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugs, Fake AH Crew, Heist, M/M, Weed, jubl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray didn’t have a personality.<br/>He was an emotionless killer with a steady and deadly aim; he was a spy that let nothing get between him and his goal; he was a sniper that wouldn’t miss a shot even if his mother was dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confessions of the Broken

Ray didn’t have a personality.

He was an emotionless killer with a steady and deadly aim; he was a spy that let nothing get between him and his goal; he was a sniper that wouldn’t miss a shot even if his mother was dying. All while making sexual jokes over the radio.

When he wasn’t working, he got high and played videogames, stuffing himself with junk food and staying indoors as much as he could. All while making as many sexual jokes as he could.

Those weren’t his personalities, though - his persona got buried under these mockeries of a human being ages ago.

Ray didn’t have his own personality if he wasn’t sober. And he wasn’t sober 99% of the time.

▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲

Or maybe he did, but no one had ever seen anything else than deathly silence and skill or perfect gameplay with sexual jokes from him. It had been almost a year and a half since he joined the Fake AH crew, and the others knew basically nothing about him.

He liked Geoff’s bacon and eggs, he liked Halo, he had a gamerscore higher than the Eiffel tower, his RL headshot count was at 472 and in Halo it was over 3000 (Ray forgot, honestly) and he always carried his PSP with him. That was all the others knew, along with little tidbits like his preference of Cola over Sprite; nothing important.

“Can you find out something about Ray?” Geoff once asked Jack.

Ray was playing a game of Halo with Gavin (unsurprisingly winning, but the Brit was taking it surprisingly well and wasn’t even yelling. Yet.) in the living room of Geoff’s apartment, which they all came to call ‘common house’. Ryan was sitting on the couch next to them, watching amusedly, and Michael went to his fiancee’s place. Jack was looking for something on Google, so Geoff used the chance to ask him.

“Yeah, I should be able to,” Jack replied, minimizing the browser and pulling up the program that he stole from the FBI (at least that’s what he liked to say). He tapped and clicked away for a little bit while Geoff sipped from his glass of Scotch.

“He’s cheating, I swear to god!” Gavin’s voice carried from the living room. He was already at the point of yelling at Ray for his skills. And it wasn’t even 10PM. Geoff sighed. The Puerto Rican in question was giggling, too high to get mad.

“That’s weird,” Jack muttered, furrowing his brow.

Geoff leaned over the kitchen table to look at the screen. “What is?”

“I searched all of the databases, but there’s no trace of anyone called Ray Narvaez Jr.”

“Maybe it’s not his real name, then,” Geoff supplied.

“No, it’s not like Ray to lie to us,” Jack reasoned, shaking his head. It’s not like Ray… What is like Ray? “Who gets their entire file removed from the databases?”

Geoff sipped on his alcohol. “Killers do. We do.There wasn’t anything about Ryan before, either.”

△△△△△△△△△△

Ray opened the top drawer of his dresser, rummaging through and trying to locate the bag of weed he had stashed in there. His fingers glided over various bongs, but no plastic bag. He frowned, shutting the drawer with an annoyed huff.

He went back to his game - today it was Trials HD - and plopped down onto the couch. He’d have to get more weed later For now, he could go without it.

Getting up and finding a dealer would take effort, and he wasn’t about to put effort into anything right then.

▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲

“Two guys on your ten, Michael,” Ray said over the radio, keeping his scope on one of their heads. “Do you want me to get them?”

“Yeah,” Michael responded, a bit staticly. “I’ve my hands full here.”

Ray pulled the trigger and the man’s forehead split in two as the bullet entered his head. He fell down limp. The other man turned his way, raising his assault rifle. Ray stifled a laugh.

He aimed at the other man, repropping his arm on the edge of the roof and firing. The bullet travelled through the man’s left temple and Ray lowered the rifle as he started falling over.

“You okay there, Ray?” Ryan asked over the radio.

Ray grinned. “474. I’ve never been better.“

△△△△△△△△△△

"How hard is it to find a good weed dealer?!” Ray complained as soon as he stepped over the threshold of Geoff’s apartment.

“What happened, Ray?” Michael asked, cocking an eyebrow at the sniper.

“This happened!” Ray exclaimed, raising a small plastic bag filled with weed. “This is fucking trash!”

He threw the bag to Michael and stomped over to the living room to sit on the couch. Jack and Ryan were playing Minecraft, ceasing their conversation when they saw Ray walking in. “Do you want to join?” Jack asked tentatively, seeing the glare Ray was directing at the floor.

“Sure,” Ray shrugged, taking a controller from the coffee table.

“I don’t get it,” Michael said, walking over while sniffing the herb in Ray’s bag. “It’s just weed. What’s wrong with it?”

“What do you mean?! Can’t you see?” Ray questioned, accepting an invite from Jack and spawning into the game. “The quality is shit!”

Michael gave the bag a sceptical look before zipping it up and chucking it onto the table. “Whatever you say, Ray.”

“Why is it so hard to find good weed nowadays?”

“Why didn’t you go to your previous dealer? You didn’t complain about your weed before,” Ryan said, glancing at the blacknet.

“I would’ve, but he’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t find anyone good around, so I guess I’m going without weed for a while.” He spared a fleeting glare at the small bag before him. “I wouldn’t smoke that shit even if my life depended on it.”

▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲

The withdrawal signs weren’t strong, but they were still there. Ray couldn’t keep still most of the time, tapping his foot or drumming his fingers constantly.

Two weeks; that was the longest he had ever gone without weed, as far as he could remember. It’s been three now.

He tried to distract himself with more games, loud music, anything really. But nothing seemed to work. He just wanted to take a hit – even one – of his bong, but the only weed he had was the shitty kind and he was sure that if he used it, he’d simply barf up the remains of his breakfast.

“You seem a lot jumpier today,” Ryan remarked from the doorway, sipping on a cup of coffee. He wasn’t wearing his mask and his hair was dishevelled like he just woke up. Maybe he did, Ryan’s sleeping patterns were weird as dicks, as Geoff would say.

“Still didn’t find a good dealer,” Ray grinned, shrugging.

“I see,” Ryan nodded. “Distracting yourself?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Want help?” Ryan asked, lifting a corner of his lips. Ray cocked his head a little.

“What are you talking about?”

Ryan sat on the couch, after brushing off the crumbs from Ray’s crackers, and set his mug down. “I asked if you wanted help with distraction.”

“Sure.” Ray paused his game, turning to give Ryan his full attention. He liked the idea of being distracted.

What he didn’t expect was that by 'helping with distraction’ Ryan actually meant leaning over and kissing him. And it wasn’t even a peck, it was a full out making out with tongue and everything.

When Ryan pulled away with a grin and a glint to his eye, Ray was speechless.

“I guess it worked.”

△△△△△△△△△△

“Michael?”

Nothing.

“Geoff? Jack?”

Nothing.

“Gavin?! Ryan?!”

Nothing.

Ray looked through his scope again, searching and searching the surrounding area for the chopper that they were supposed to bring. He couldn’t see it, and the radio feed had been cut off a few minutes ago. Enough to make him anxious.

“Ray?” staticy voice that he could distinctively assign to Ryan broke the tense silence, making Ray sigh out brokenly.

“Ryan? What happened?!” he demanded, keeping his eye on the horizon.

“Well… I’m uh… speeding away from cops right now,” Ryan said. He could barely be heard over the background noise of police sirens and tires screeching as he made a sharp turn.

“What happened?!” Ray asked again, putting the rifle down.

“The chopper crashed. But the good news is that uh… I’ve the money.”

“So what now?”

“You still have the stolen bikes, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, take one and wait for me in the back alley behind the nearest shop.”

The radio burst with static for a second and then Ray’s ears were filled with silence. He frowned at the city and jumped onto the closest bike, starting it and speeding down the ramp in search of an empty alley.

It was a stupid plan from the beginning, really. He just hoped that the others made it out (relatively) okay.

▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲

Ryan burst into the alleyway holding a duffel bag to his chest and throwing his mask off. Ray was seated on the bike, fully prepared to ride away as soon as Ryan hopped on.

“Book it out of here,” Ryan commanded, one hand holding onto the back of Ray’s hoodie. Ray stepped on the gas and they left out of there in a cloud of smoke.

“Where to?” Ray asked, keeping an eye out of the traffic and zig-zagging through the colons of cars.

“When he get rid of the cops, we’ll go to the metro station. It’ll be easier to blend in.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

The ride was mostly quiet after that exchange, only Ryan notifying Ray about the cops on their tail, which started to thin out after a while. When Ryan swore there were no more behind them, he turned to the direction of the metro and parked the bike in an alley nearby.

They hopped off, stretching their sore limbs. “So? What now?” Ray asked, chucking his mask into the nearest trash can.

“We go back with the money. You know…” Ryan paused, looking at Ray. “There doesn’t have to be two of us.”

“Wait, what?!”

“If they catch you, they’ll torture you and make sure to make it last…”

“Ryan, what the fuck? Who…?” Ray backed off a little, hand gripping his rifle tightly. Ryan mimicked him, taking a step for every step Ray took backwards. He took out his handgun.

“I can make it painless, you know,” Ryan continued, ignoring Ray’s questions. He raised the barrel, pointing it at Ray’s head.

Ray’s hands shook as he grasped his rifle and shot a warning shot, the bullet flying centimeters over Ryan’s head. If he had wanted to, Ryan would’ve been dead, and the brunet knew it.

Ryan backed the Puerto Rican into a brick wall, squishing the sniper rifle between them and pressing the barrel of his handgun into Ray’s forehead.

The simply stared at each other for a few seconds, breathing heavily. Then, Ray laughed, showing his pearly white teeth. “Shoot me,” he declared.

When Ryan didn’t make any indication of wanting to move, he repeated himself. “Shoot me, Ryan. If I was high, I would’ve slapped your back for making such a joke. But guess what?” Ray was still grinning, even as his vision blurred, his wet eyelashes sticking to his glasses as tears pooled in his eyes. “I’m not high. So shoot me. Take the money. Run away.”

Ryan grinded his teeth, pressing the barrel into Ray’s skin even more, so much that Ray’s head bumped into the wall painfully. Yet, his finger, curled around the trigger, didn’t press it.

There was another beat of silence as they both looked into each other’s eyes, before Ryan muttered, not louder than a slight whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Ray replied, equally as silently.

“Your life is worth so much more than this money. And I only realized when you told me to shoot you.” The barrel left Ray’s forehead and the handgun clattered to the ground. Ryan wrapped his arms around the smaller man, bringing their bodies closer and making the sniper rifle dig into their skin painfully. Neither minded.

“Every job that we did together, I would always worry about you alone on those rooftops,” Ryan muttered, bunching the purple fabric of Ray’s hoodie in his fists. “I always took jobs that you would. I didn’t want to leave in anyone else’s care. The other assassins weren’t worthy of working with you. I wasn’t either. I’m still not.”

Ray let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The tears that had gathered in his eyes before were now freely streaming down his cheeks and he buried his face into Ryan’s jacket. “You are, you fuck,” he said, not caring about the break in his voice.

Suddenly, all those times Ryan asked if he was okay during missions made sense.

“Do you want to go back?” Ryan asked, an edge to his voice that sounded like uncertainty and if Ray didn’t know him, he would’ve guessed… hope?

“Yeah. I need to change from these clothes; they’re all sweaty,” Ray joked, trying to elevate the atmosphere.

It worked, as Ryan cracked a smile when he leaned away. He reached into Ray’s left pocket and retrieved a small metallic device. As Ray frowned at it suspiciously, Ryan spoke to it, “Thanks for worrying about us, Lindsay. We’re going to Geoff’s.”

Lindsay’s voice crackled with static in their (slightly damaged, probably) ear pieces. “Finally! Geoff says he wants to make a toast for you two finally getting together, even if it was… under… weird circumstances. That means he wants to get drunk off his ass, so you better hurry.”


End file.
